The wind blew strangely that night, curling through Dustfall Village like an omen. It whispered across rooftops and stirred old ash from the barren trees. A tremor passed through the ground—a sensation too subtle for most to notice.
But Zhen Wuji felt it.
He sat beneath the moon, knees bloodied from his continued training, fists wrapped in strips of linen so stained with red they had turned dark brown. The ache in his arms was like fire, but there was something new—an echo deep in his bones, like a call.
It came from the earth.
Or… beneath it.
He opened his eyes, glinting with clarity.
Something was summoning him.
Wuji rose, wrapped his robe tighter against the cold, and made his way beyond the village border, past the rotting fields and abandoned quarry. Old stories said there was once a tomb beneath this land, sealed in the days before the Three-Scars Sect ruled these lands.
Most said it was cursed.
Wuji didn't care.
If something down there could give him an edge—he would face it.
He found the entrance partially collapsed, hidden behind a wall of boulders near the cliffside. But he felt the tremor clearly now—almost like a heartbeat from below. His knuckles itched. His body felt strangely alive.
He pushed.
The rocks didn't budge.
He set his stance and punched—again and again. The strikes echoed in the valley like war drums.
Crack.
Crack.
BANG!
A final punch shattered the blockade. Dust choked the air as the rocks tumbled inward, revealing a sloped passage cloaked in ancient darkness. Cold wind rushed out like a breath held for eons.
Wuji stepped in.
The air was dense. Heavy. Each footstep echoed.
Ancient murals lined the stone walls, depicting massive titans—men with bodies as tall as mountains, crushing beasts and gods alike underfoot. Their muscles bulged with coiled power, and their eyes blazed like suns.
"The Titans…" Wuji whispered, a strange reverence in his voice.
His fingers brushed a mural. It vibrated faintly, as if recognizing him.
Then—suddenly—light surged through the stone.
The passage ahead lit up in waves. Runes flickered to life, one by one, illuminating a wide underground chamber. In the center, atop a pedestal of black stone, floated a weathered, blood-red scripture.
It pulsed with ancient might.
Words carved in divine script hovered above it, shifting as if alive.
[Heaven-Crushing Titan Body Scripture]
Wuji's heart pounded.
He stepped forward. The closer he came, the heavier the pressure grew. His knees nearly buckled under the force alone. It was not spiritual—it was pure gravitational might. His body trembled.
But he smiled.
"This… is my path."
He took the scripture into his hands.
BOOM.
A shockwave exploded outward. Stone cracked, and the chamber shuddered. The scripture dissolved into red threads of light, piercing into his skin, diving into his bones, blood, and nerves.
Wuji screamed.
It felt like being forged alive.
His muscles convulsed.
His organs twisted.
Then—
Silence.
A golden radiance flowed beneath his skin.
His body awoke.
The first layer of the [Heaven-Crushing Titan Body Scripture] had begun.
At that moment, Wuji saw his own anatomy through an inner vision: bones like steel, blood like molten ore, and flesh brimming with kinetic tension.
Lines of scripture engraved themselves into his cells—Titan Bone Engraving, Pulse Forging, Tendon Rebinding—each a method of refining his mortal flesh into a godlike frame.
He fell to his knees, gasping.
But he laughed.
He had stepped onto the path of a Titan—a being whose body alone could crush armies and flatten mountains.
This was not Qi cultivation.
This was not a borrowed Dao.
This was Force, absolute and pure.
By dawn, Wuji had returned to the village.
His gait was steady.
His back straighter.
Every villager who passed him noticed the shift. He seemed heavier—not in size, but in presence. Even the elder from the Three-Scars Sect who had come to inspect him the previous day watched from afar, eyes narrowed.
Back at the training grounds, Wuji resumed his practice.
Now, each punch felt alive.
BOOM.
He struck with the force of a bull. The cracked stone dummy shattered into pieces.
From the distance, a young girl in blue robes watched. She had bright, curious eyes and a quiet grace to her steps.
"You're the one who fought the outer disciples, aren't you?" she asked.
Wuji turned.
She stepped forward. "I'm Lin Yanyu. A servant from the outer sect compound."
He said nothing.
"You're strong," she said plainly. "But they won't let you live if you don't kneel. Especially after what happened yesterday."
"I don't care."
She blinked. "Then you'll die."
"I'd rather die than crawl."
Her lips parted in surprise.
Then she smiled.
"You're a fool. But a noble one."
She turned to leave, then hesitated.
"If you're really set on walking this path," she said, "you should know—there's a selection coming in three days. For the outer sect's Bone Refinement trial. Normally, it's only open to those with awakened Qi."
Wuji looked up.
"But…" she added, "if you're strong enough to defeat an outer disciple in public, they might let you join."
He clenched his fists.
The timing was perfect.
Three days.
He had three days to refine the first stage of the Titan Scripture.
That night, he read the inner script engraved in his mind. The Titan Scripture did not teach cultivation of energy. It taught evolution through trauma.
Bone Engraving — Temper all 206 bones by striking against immovable surfaces until vibration harmonization is achieved.
Tendon Rebinding — Stretch and reforge tendons by overextension and kinetic rebound exercises, until each tendon could act like coiled springs.
Pulse Forging — Manipulate heart rate, blood pressure, and internal flow through breathwork to compress and strengthen internal pressure.
It was madness.
But it was the only path he could walk.
So he did.
For three days and nights, Wuji trained under the waterfall cliffs of Black Crag Basin, letting tons of water pummel his body. He slammed fists into obsidian stone, let gravity hurl him off jagged cliffs, and submerged himself in ice-cold mountain springs to heal and harden his nerves.
Each day, his skin thickened.
His blood felt hotter.
His frame grew denser.
By the third night, his back gleamed faintly under moonlight—etched with a swirling, bronze-colored pattern. A Titan Mark.
He had completed the first stage.
His body now held strength rivalling a peak Bone Refinement cultivator.
But this was only the beginning.
On the morning of the selection trial, the Three-Scars Sect outer arena buzzed with anticipation.
Dozens of young cultivators stood in rows, many sneering when they saw Wuji's commoner garb and lack of spirit fluctuations.
"Trash."
"He's not even a Qi trainee. What's he doing here?"
The examiner was an outer elder—cold-eyed and bored. "Only those who pass the trial will earn a qualification token. First challenge: open sparring. Defeat one opponent to advance."
He glanced lazily at Wuji. "You. You'll go first. Against Fang Yao."
A lean youth stepped forward. Fang Yao was already at third stage Body Refinement, his veins glowing faintly with circulating Qi.
"You sure you don't want to surrender?" Fang sneered.
Wuji stepped into the ring, barefoot.
Fang rushed in like a serpent—fluid and sharp.
Wuji didn't dodge.
He stepped forward and punched.
BANG!
Fang flew across the ring, crashing through the stone rail. Blood sprayed from his mouth as several ribs caved in.
The arena fell silent.
Even the elder's eyes narrowed.
Wuji turned.
"Next."